Bitter Compound
by Sandman Zane
Summary: The human embodiment of paranoia is about to face true Hell.
1. Prologue Lake of Fire

Author's Note: Woah. Didn't think I'd be back so quickly. XD Ugh I'll probably be typing this on the computer in my room and transferring it to the computer with Internet access through floppy disk. This computer sucks...I haven't used it in so long the keyboard's incredibly dusty and I coughed the second I pulled it out. Yeah, I know you're all thinking, 'omg Sam why the hell do you think we care?' So, uh, yeah. 

Note: This is not a romance, and if for some odd reason it ends up having romance in it, I am NOT making promises of it being slash or het. That's a lot to make a commitment to, and it might not even happen.

Alright, this first chapter won't make sense, 'kay? They usually don't. Heh.

Note: Fanfiction is being incredibly gay and wouldn't do italics and stuff, so please ignore strange tabs and such. I have to go through tomorrow and fix all those. >.

* * *

_Prologue: Lake of Fire_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

A nether realm of the devil and the demons in which the damned suffer everlasting punishment.

The normal and stereotypical depiction of Hell was a place of vile and disgusting abuse and torment, filled with those who have sinned and their agonizing screams. Volcanoes and dagger-like mountains reach for the blood-red sky and rivers of lava and blood flow through the cracks and crevices of said mountains, spewing over the edges in painful waterfalls. Demons ran around, fiery electrical prods in hands, ready to stab unsuspecting victims. Their piercing laughs would echo across the foreboding land and they would dance the dance of the undead, and would do so for all of eternity.

He knew, however, that Hell was a mindset. Hell was everywhere, there was no avoiding it. Hell was what you made it.

He made it home.

It was where he was born, it was where he grew up, and it was where he would spend all of eternity. He learned everything he knew here. It became a place of adoration to him, a place he would always hold close to his un-beating heart.

Now he lay, at the ripe age of seventeen, on his bed of black and red sheets, staring intently at the rocky ceiling with his black and hollow eyes. Posters of bands plastered every inch of his walls. The eyes of Ozzy Osbourne and the faces of the members of bands like Metallica and Slipknot stared down at him.

In his land of misery and apathy, there was one thing that never failed to clear Damien's clouded head. That was music, no matter what form it came in. As long as there were long metallic guitar riffs and meaningful lyrics, it was enough to shed a little light in the world of darkness he so happily resided in. It was with said music that he escaped reality, travelling deep inside the minds of the artist and understanding the words and feelings they were trying to express.

This was one of those moments, where he had the speakers blasting alternations of Iron Maiden and Ozzy. He knew what the pathetic mortals up on Earth thought of his taste of music. They thought of it as 'Devil music.' He would snort every time this phrase was mentioned, for he doubted the accused knew the exact irony of it. Damien knew the music was not intended for the devil, it didn't worship the devil (although there were exceptions, of course, but there always are), but only the devil and his son could truly understand the depth and perception of the music, for there was much more to them than there were to humans and the like. Smirking, he finally realized the mere fact that in that sense, he Idid/I listen to devil music.

He felt a familiar weight and vibration on his stomach, and he glanced down to find the spiny Lazarus curled up on his stomach, tail wrapped around his bony face. The cat's amber eyes closed tightly, the corners of his mouth twitching with satisfaction as Damien ran an affectionate hand through the cat's knotted fur and scratched behind his ears. Lazarus stretched, revealing his eeringly long length, and returned to his little ball of satisfaction to fall asleep once more.

Damien knew he was often ridiculed among the demons, spirits, and the undead for the cat. Not only was it not the most masculine of creatures, but the name 'Lazarus' wasn't the most valued name among the land of Hades (although he was tired of hearing his father complain about some fake Greek God getting the glory of having Hell named after him). But despite being the son of Satan and completely insane at times, he had certain soft spots that were hard to reach. The second the damned cat crossed the barrier into the realm of the dead, Damien knew he had to protect his cat the best he could from the merciless hands of demons. It was an age-old question; do all dogs go to heaven? Yes, if they were Mormon. The same applied to cats and other animals of course, and who's to say the eternally doomed wouldn't appreciate a companion? Misery loves company, right? Lazarus was rather close to his namesake; born to be named Truffle, he developed tumors and sores, eventually being neglected and forgotten by his owner, and poor Truffle became Lazarus, faithful pet to Damien and happier in Hell than on Earth. Even though there were occasional moments where Damien had his back turned to the cat, and Lazarus would slink out of the stony building to be stabbed or tazered by a demon. The poor cat would shriek and hiss in pain and limp back to Damien's side. The anti-Christ's eyes would glow a deep, eerie red, and at the same time he would both heal the wounds of the cat and cause the demon to spontaneously combust, covering bystanders with goo and blood.

It wasn't often Damien felt something, but when he did, it was with a fiery passion. The only things he felt for were music, his Lazarus, and the dreaded boredom. Apathy was a deadly and vile weapon, and was Damien's own torture. He was a teenager. He had ambitions, desires, and urges. Unfortunately lying in bed with headphones on and drowning the underworld out with music and his cat didn't quite satisfy these urges. He craved despair and chaos; he wanted to demolish something. He had an Appetite for Destruction.

Occasionally he'd wander off from his father's rocky palace made from bones and cooled lava, Lazarus trotting close behind, and would blow things up. He'd set hair on fire. He'd burn people. But mainly he blew up things, and that was sometimes good enough for him. Lately, however, these little acts of boredom didn't seem to feel the same. After a while the tortured and the abused would become used to Damien's antics, and nothing felt the same. What he really wanted was to create chaos on Earth.

He had played the idea to his father at dinner one night, between bites of the most bizarre, most disgusting foods imaginable, and his father had cuffed him playfully on the shoulder and said, "Good boy, just like a chip off the old block." Damien rolled his eyes and stared at his plate, turning the food over with a bloody fork. His dad had always dismissed Damien's fantasies like that; he always thought he was kidding and would return to knitting or reading his favorite book, The Valley of Penises. These kinds of things often irked the young anti-Christ, such as his father's sexuality and as a result of his sexuality, his behavior. He had learned to accept the fact his father was a 'gay homosexual,' but it still took some time to get used to his mannerisms and life style.

Perhaps the hardest thing for Damien to deal with was the fact his father brought home a new man every night. Some nights he brought home complete pussys, the kind who wanted to cuddle on the couch and hold hands while sharing their deepest, darkest secrets. Other nights he brought home assholes and dicks. These were the ones who took complete advantage of his father's weaknesses and his eagerness to please and just wanted to have sex in the bed of the devil. The ones he remembered most were Chris and Saddam Hussein. Chris just disgusted him. He had no spine, no backbone. He let others walk all over him and actually enjoyed it. Saddam, however, was a man. He killed. He maimed. He tortured. He was his own boss and really knew how to work others. For this, Damien idolized him, but it quickly diminished when he saw just how crude and horny Saddam really was. He was a sick, twisted little man, and Damien was rather glad he ended up in Heaven.

Perhaps he remembered these two the most because they both meant more to Satan than anything else ever had, and he just moped and whined all day and all night over what he should do. Despite all the quirks and antics of his father, Damien remained loyal and faithful to him. After all, Satan was the only family Damien had, and even he needed family.

Today was one of the days where Damien just had to get out there and piss someone off. He wanted to blow something up. Lazarus seemed to sense this agitation and glanced up at Damien. He smirked and picked the cat up, tossing it off of him and standing up. He glanced around, blinking as if he were confused as to why he stood up in the first place. Glancing over at the stereo it shut off, and he heaved a heavy sigh. He ran a hand through his long, greasy hair and, stepping over Lazarus, left his room.

He walked into the den to find his father sitting on the pink, over-stuffed couch. He wore his cat-eye glasses and read from a magazine. Upon hearing footsteps, Satan looked up and beamed at his son. "Hello there, Damien."

"Hi," Damien mumbled softly, jutting his pale hands into the pockets of his long, black coat. He refused to look at his dad, almost positive he was goggling over the males in the magazine, probably Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt or whoever the hell else living teenage girls went gaga over.

Satan licked his thumb and turned the page. He grunted with slight satisfaction at something on the page. Just out of shear curiosity, Damien asked,

"Who are you drooling over, Dad?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, Matt Lauer," His father responded absentmindedly. "You going somewhere, son?"

"It would appear so, wouldn't it?" Damien replied, still staring at his feet. He often wondered if it was normal to be ashamed of his father, especially one of such prestige and fame.

"Alright, but be back early. We're having Hitler over for dinner."

Damien rolled his eyes and slammed the door behind him. It was just another day in the home of Satan and Son.

* * *

Leaping over the small stream of lava, Damien landed firmly on the other side, feet pressing solidly into the rocky surface. With a meow, Lazarus hopped over with ease, and looked up at Damien as if to say, 'Piece of cake.' Damien rolled his eyes and continued on; glancing through the strands of hair that fell in his face at his surroundings. There was a large gathering of demons huddled around something, and Damien knew who it was. It was a family who had died in a car crash; a mother, a father, and two children. The boy was eight years old, and the girl merely three. The demons were laughing hysterically, throwing rocks at them as they huddled together in a weeping mass, the father over the mother, who in turn was doing her best to protect the children. They were badly scarred, and each had devastating wounds, the boy's head almost seemed caved in where the drunk driver had collided into the side of the car. The mother had several gashes all over her body, from where the shards of glass pierced her skin. The father seemed just as bad as the young boy, having been seated directly in front of him. However, probably the worse one was the little three-year-old girl. Her left eye seemed swollen shut (or perhaps it had been completely gouged out, it was hard to tell it was so mutilated), and she seemed to have several broken bones. The car had been slammed into by a drunk driver and had collided into a brick wall. Because of this, the little girl had twice as many scars as her mother, and had a v-shape cut across her neck and chest where the car seat had pierced her tender, sensitive flesh. 

The demons laughed maniacally, throwing more rocks and poking them with burning sticks. The family simply cried in pain as more demons came to join in on the 'fun.' Damien simply walked past the scene, completely unphased by it. He was neither excited nor upset, so he didn't even care to bother to stop them. No, this was Hell, and the poor family would have to get used to it.

Lazarus blinked, watching the untimely display and yowled, staring intently at the little girl. He blinked once more and trotted off after Damien, tail and ears drooping sadly. He still wasn't completely adjusted to the misery of the little ones.

Damien slowed as a familiar voice reached his ears.

"Hey, Damien! Wait up!"

Damien groaned and stopped in his tracks. He turned slowly to face Kenny McCormick. A large knife stuck out of his chest, sticky blood staining his otherwise bright orange coat. "Kenny…" Damien grumbled in acknowledgment.

"Hey dude, what's up?" Kenny said casually once he reached the two. "Hey Laz," He added, before giving Damien time to answer. He reached down to pat the cat on the head, only for Lazarus to hiss and swipe a paw at Kenny. "Ow, shit! Dammit, Laz," he cursed, glaring at the cat and then glancing up at Damien, who wore a smirk. "Oh, I suppose you find this funny?"

"Exceedingly."

"Yeah, glad to see my pain humors you," he snapped, sticking his finger in his mouth to suck the blood Lazarus drew.

"This_is_ Hell, and Satan is my father," Damien responded, turning around as if that ended the conversation.

"So? It still isn't funny."

"I'm sorry that my upbringing causes me to have a slightly different sense of humor than yours." He faced Kenny once more, and eyed the knife jutting out of his chest with a raised brow. "What happened to you?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Kenny responded airily, wearing a sheepish grin. He wrapped his hands around the handle of the knife and pulled it from him with a sickening sound. "Cartman thought he was a knife thrower. Stupid fat ass," he grumbled, throwing the knife to the ground and kicking it away from him.

"I see…" Damien trailed off, raising his nose and eyebrows in mock-revelation. "What do you want?" He asked, finally getting to the point.

Kenny held his shoulders in a shrug, sticking his hands out. "Well, uh, I am kind of young to die."

"You're seventeen."

"I know. I want to be at least forty," Kenny replied with a cheesy grin.

"Why should I do this for you?" Damien asked, rolling his eyes and groaning.

"You do it almost everyday."

He groaned again. "I know, but I don't know why."

"Because the sooner you send me back, the less time I'm down here bugging you."

"Good point," Damien sighed, grinned slightly as he glanced at the blonde. "You'll wake up in your bed tomorrow morning."

"Thanks again, Damien," Kenny thanked gratefully, clasping his hands together. "Hey, uh, Damien? Do you think I could wake up in Bertha's bed?"

"No."

"Bebe's?"

"If you don't shut up you'll end up in that man Garrison's bed," Damien warned, allowing his eyes to glow to prove his seriousness.

"Christ, dude!" Kenny spat, sticking his tongue out in disgust. "That faggy perv is like what, sixty now?"

Damien nodded. "Almost."

"Ew, gross. Scary thing is he'd do me too. Damn. Now if it were Stan's dad, that'd be forgivable. That man aged with grace." Kenny chuckled, obviously entertaining himself.

Damien rolled his eyes, somewhat grossed out by Kenny's statement. He would have been completely sick if it weren't for the tolerance his father, Chris, and Saddam supplied for him. Still, he was slightly disturbed and that was enough for him. With a wave of a hand, Kenny grabbed his crotch and groaned in pain as if someone had kicked him in his prized possessions.

"God _damn _you, Damien!" Kenny spat, falling to his knees. Damien simply turned and he and Lazarus continued on their way. They passed several more families like the first, all dying of either the same cause or of various ones. Damien grew more restless with each passing minute, and the desire to rebel grew stronger. Finally he shut his eyes and flung his left arm to the side, sending a large boulder flying across the area and landing roughly on a couple who had been murdered in their sleep. Damien chuckled to himself and stared down at Lazarus, who was sitting quietly at Damien's side, tail wrapping and unwrapping around his haunches.

He continued to torture random souls, and would laugh louder each time. It was as if he were getting drunk off the pain of the others. Each 'hit' left him more crazed and maddened, and his acts of torture increased wildly. Damn, it felt good to be him sometimes. If it felt this good to torture the dead, it must feel even better to do it on Earth. He made up his mind. He was going to Earth tonight, but first he had to return home to eat dinner with his father and Hitler.

* * *

Damien turned the food over with a fork. Satan and Hitler exchanged a few words in German before the ex-dictator decided to take his leave. Satan closed the door and turned to face his son. "Well you could have been a little more polite." 

"Polite to a dictator? Dad, you're such a fag."

"Watch it, Damien. Maybe I won't be so polite the next time you wanna go out."

"Then I just won't tell you when I go to Earth," Damien smirked, glaring at his father who gasped.

"You're not really going up there, are you Damien?" Satan asked, watching his offspring with a surprised eye.

"I plan on it."

"But why?"

Damien rolled his eyes, temporarily vanishing behind his greasy bangs. "It's boring down here."

Satan couldn't hide his grin. "Alright, my son, but I fear that you aren't strong enough."

"Dude, I've been up there before, when I was eight, and back then I was incredibly powerful. I'm about three times that now."

"And how do you plan on getting there?"

Damien groaned. "Walk through the seven circles of Hell until I walk out of the portal," he responded, as if it were the simplest fact. "I've done this all before. I ineed/i to go up there. What happens when I take over Hell, Dad, and I don't know what the fuck I'm doing? Think of it as training."

Satan sighed. "As much as I'm going to regret this, go ahead. It's not like I could stop you anyway."

"Exactly," Damien replied, heading for the door.

* * *

He had successfully traveled through all the rings of Hell. He'd been through the ring where the gluttonous went, and Cerberus, the three-headed dog, pranced around and snacked on the souls. He'd gone through the ring of those who performed acts of treason and betrayal towards God, where they were forced to lie on their backs and have fire rained upon them from the heavens themselves. Damien stood on the edge of the portal, Lazarus at his side. He knew where he was going to end up. It was inevitable. It was that little Podunk town, South Park. 

Taking a deep breath of anticipation, Damien and Lazarus both stepped through the portal.

* * *

The ground opened up, allowing black smoke to billow out onto the ground. Damien planted hands on either side of the crevice and hoisted himself up with ease. He stood straight, allowing Lazarus room to hop out after him. Standing to his full height, he cracked his neck. 

Damien shivered, wrapping his arms around him. It was cold, so cold, and he needed a body to keep him warm.

* * *

Tada...there's the prologue. The story doesn't have much to it but the plot should start to come into play by the second or third chapter. Alright…as far as my take on Hell, I did research and just added my own ideas and thoughts to it. And as far as having Cerberus in there, yes, he was from Greek Mythology, but he was also adopted into the Catholic religion and the stereotypical idea of Hell as a sort of torture for one of the rings of Hell. Haha, I wrote the last few paragraphs in Mythology, while we were watching a movie on the Underworld. XD Convenient, eh? Muaha. 


	2. Ch 1: Alkaloid

**Author's Note: **First off, I just want to thank all who reviewed. I really didn't expect that many, especially for the prologue, but it made me happy. Every single review made me smile and aww. -feels loved- You all know who you are.

Now, this chapter might not make sense at first but I'm still setting things up and yeah. Woohoo for randomness! Don't expect this chapter to be as creative as the last, it's in a totally new direction than the prologue.

* * *

Disclaimer: I own nothing...except for Lazarus! Haha hooray for Laz.

Title: Bitter Compound

Chapter One: Alkaloid

It was the jumpstart of the day, the one thing that never failed to get him out of bed and dressed. It was his best friend, and at times his only friend, and it would never let him down. It would never hurt him or cause him pain, just as long as he had more coffee beans when the coffee ran out.

His bedroom door creaked open, allowing unwanted light to pour in through the widening crack and causing his eyes to clamp together tightly. The figure of his mother appeared in the doorway, blocking some of the light. "Tweek, honey," she cooed. "It's time to get up. Your father's got a mug of Pumpkin Spice poured for you."

The boy groaned before rolling lazily out of the oh-so-comfortable bed, shuffling towards the doorway and down the steps behind his mother. They entered the kitchen where his father set a mug at Tweek's usual seat. Neither of his parents dared to look at him, and he knew it must have happened again.

He sat in the seat, staring at the table in a zombie-like fashion. Huge bags hung heavily from underneath his cool gray eyes, his face pale and weak. He yawned, finishing it off with an impromptu 'yah!' and put his shaky hands around the hot mug, sipping gratefully at it. He glanced at his parents who moved nervously about the kitchen, avoiding every chance to glance at him. He sighed almost sadly and stared into the mug of coffee at the vibrating boy staring back at him. His left eye twitched as he stared at his reflection, the memory of the night before suddenly coming back to him.

It was a reoccurring nightmare; one that never ceased to terrify him in his sleep and send him into fits of sleep-screams and thrashing. They were so violent and loud they woke his parents up, who then would cower in fear in their own beds, too afraid of their own son to wake him up and tell him it was all a dream, and that monsters weren't real. Instead they'd huddle together, heads resting on each other, and shut their ears out to their troubled son. No one ever woke Tweek up during his fits of terror, they were too afraid of what he would do in that frenzied state of mind. However, Tweek was hardly aware of his screams, and in the morning he sometimes forgot the dreams. Sometimes the only clues regarding his violent shakes were the bruises he had earned from banging the headboard. He had these dreams almost every other night, and they were the skeletons in the Tweaks' closet.

After a short while, Mrs. Tweak spoke. "Hurry up, dear. Go get dressed and brush your teeth, and for God's sake, do something with that hair! I'll drive you to school." She knew two things; nothing I could /I be done with his hair, and there was no way her son would be riding the bus or driving to school. The latter would result in a car crash and the former would result in someone beating him up. As far as his hair was concerned, the damned thing had a mind of it's own. A brush couldn't go through it. Scissors couldn't trim it, and gel or hairspray would only make his hair tougher. Once they shaved it off, giving him a buzz cut, but it didn't last long. His hair grew back in such a rapid state that it grew back even thicker. They just had to learn how to live with it.

He nodded shakily and hopped from his seat, bouncing up the stairs with his new caffeine high. Throwing on a raggedy red hoody and some old jeans, he slipped his shoes on and came down the stairs with his bag over his shoulder.

"Tweek, honey, grab an apple or something. I don't want you going to school with just a cup of coffee in your stomach. You could get sick."

"Oh God!" he chirped, dashing into the kitchen and grabbing a granny smith.

"No, Tweek," his mother snapped, smacking his hand and causing him to drop the apple. "Granny Smith apples are too sour for you. You're bouncy enough as it is, you won't be able to handle it." She offered him a motherly smile and handed him a red delicious. "There, nice and sweet for my little sweetheart," she added, pinching Tweek's cheek lovingly.

"Stop it, Ma! What if the guys were over here!"

"Oh," she chuckled, "They wouldn't care. Craig and his little band of rogues are nothing but sweethearts."

"You don't know them, Ma, they'd make fun of me. Jesus, they'd probably bash my head in a locker or something."

"Oh, sweetie, they wouldn't do that. Now, go get in the car so we won't be late," she ordered. Tweek obeyed, sitting in the front seat beside his mother. They drove in silence, neither of them talking for quite some time.

"It happened again, didn't it?" Tweek asked randomly, staring out his window. His mother sighed heavily before answering.

"Yes."

He didn't acknowledge her response, but continued to stare out at the black and yellow rolling underneath the car. It had happened everyday that week, making the latest occurrence the fifth one in a row. He sighed through clenched teeth and rested his cheek in the palm of his hand. The outline of the high school suddenly became apparent to him, but he otherwise ignored it.

"Did you remember your lunch money?" His mother asked in an attempt to break the awkward silence.

"Yes," he replied apathetically, blinking.

"Are you still going to that movie with Craig after school?"

Tweek nodded.

"Who else is going?"

He thought for a moment, afraid to forget someone and leave them out. "Clyde, uh, Token, uh, oh God, who else? Butters might be going. And Kevin."

His mother scowled. "I don't like that Kevin boy. And that Butters is trouble."

"Jesus mom, so what? You have to let me go!"

She sighed. "I wasn't going to tell you that you couldn't go. I was just saying I'm not too fond of that Leopold Stotch." The car pulled up in front of the school and slowed. "Alright, honey. Call me if you're going to be out later, alright?"

"Okay, okay," Tweek said quickly, not wanting to be seen with his mother. "Bye." Mrs. Tweak frowned and drove off.

"Hey, Mama's Boy," came the familiar nasal-sounding laugh. Tweek didn't have to turn around to know that it was Craig standing behind him with that joking smirk of his. He felt an arm around his shoulder and saw the familiar blue arm snaking over his arm.

"Hi Craig," he responded bleakly.

"Hey chump," Craig said, shoving Tweek away with a playful grin. "We all decided to see that Emily Rose movie."

"You mean the one about the possessed chick!"

"Yeah, that one," Craig nodded.

"Dammit, Craig, you know I don't like possessed things!"

Chuckling, Craig responded, "Dude, calm down. It's not like the girl is actually possessed."

"But it's based on a true story!"

Craig sighed, trying his hardest not to give up on his friend. "Yeah, it's based on the people who are fucktards and are way over-Christian and think that if someone got a cold it's because they didn't sacrifice their soulless dog to God."

Tweek mimicked Craig's sigh. "Alright, I'll go, but I'm not promising I'll like it. I'm only going so the other guys won't make fun of me."

"Best reason to go," Craig smiled, throwing his arm around Tweek's shoulders and leading him into the school.

"I don't know why I put up with you, Craig," Tweek sighed, allowing Craig to usher him inside the school. "You're always forcing me to do these creepy things with you. I don't want to see scary movies, I don't want to graffiti buildings, and I don't want to sneak into the girls bathroom with you and Kenny."

Laughing, Craig shoved him again. "What? Would you prefer to see March of the Penguins?"

"Actually, yeah," he replied annoyedly, twitching. "What's wrong with that?"

"God you're such a pussy," Craig responded, shaking his head. "Some things never change."

* * *

"Oh God," Tweek muttered, clamping his trembling fingers around his hair. I just know I failed this test. Oh God, oh Jesus, Dad's gonna kill me. God dammit." 

He was made aware of a packet of papers turned facedown on his desk. He glanced at the teacher who had moved onto Bertha, shaking his head with three clicks of his tongue and setting a similar packet in the same position. Tweek took a deep breath, reaching for the papers. Clamping his eyes shut, he fumbled around until the paper was face up. "I don't want to look. It's a number that will determine my grade for this class which will then determine my future which in turn will determine how I die!"

"Calm down Tweek," came the familiar nasally whisper in his ear, as if it were his sanity speaking to him. In reality it was just Craig leaning over Tweek's shoulder from behind, but to Tweek it was all the same. Craig saw the red 93 percent circled on the top of Tweek'' page, but having his eyes close, Tweek was unable to decipher said grade. "I don't think it'll hurt you too much to look at it, Tweeky."

Comforted by the soothing tone of Craig's annoyed voice, Tweek slowly opened an eye. Seeing the 93, he sighed with relief and relaxed, opening both eyes. He held the paper high where he could examine it better, he couldn't help the small, proud smile that was hardly visible on his lips. Craig, however, noticed it and slapped Tweek's back proudly.

"Congrats, bud. You made me study all night with you, and you get an 'A.' All I got was a measly 69 percent," they both heard a chuckle from their left and knew instantly it was Kenny. Ignoring his immaturity, Craig continued. "See, Tweek? I told you that you wouldn't have problems with this geometry test. I, on the other hand, am a complete retard when it comes to numbers and formulas and squares. Squares are bitches, man, and I don't see why the fuck we have to take a class about god-damn_squares_." He sighed, slouching back in his seat. "Thank God school is almost over, we can finally go to the movie. I need some relaxation after this strenuous day."

Tweek simply sat there quietly, shaking softly in his seat. True, he wasn't looking forward to watching a movie with a girl screaming out in a demonic voice, but he was excited to spend some quality time with Craig and the 'gang.' They had asked around to see who was going to the movie, and it was confirmed that Clyde, Butters, Kevin, and Token were all joining Tweek and Craig at the movie, so the poor caffeinated boy would have to sit and grit his teeth or pull on his hair until the demonic girl shut her trap.

* * *

The town seemed to lack a certain necessary intelligence that towns usually thrived on. No, this town was filled with blasphemous, seemingly retarded people who loved congregating in over-sized crowds, shouting inaudible 'rabbles.' 

Damien never understood why this town was as popular as it was. It was filled with hicks and morons, and lacked adult intelligence. It always bothered him (but sometimes he had to admit their antics were knee-slappers) that the true intelligence resided in the children and the teenagers that weren't completely hormone-ridden; but these kids weren't his type. They were superficial and valued the lower things in life. They only worried about who could get laid the most or whose iPOD was the best.

However, there were some people Damien could stand. Despite the annoyances supplied with him, Kenny proved to be a decent person who was just a bit misguided. He also held an interest in Pip, the shy, fast-speaking Brit. who never stood up for himself. At first this annoyed Damien, but he found out he actually pitied the poor lad, and hoped that he somehow found a way to make himself even slightly respected.

Lazarus trotted close by Damien's side as they walked through the streets, unseen and unfelt by anyone. This was because of Damien's ability to make themselves invisible to those that he wanted to be ignored by, and that was everyone. He turned his nose up in disgust at the sights of the actions of these South Park civilians. Some stole, some attacked others, and some were just plain snogging in public. However this seemed to go unnoticed to anyone. It was a shame, really, how these rude and vile acts had grown to become acceptable.

A familiar squeaky voice caught his attention, and he scanned the streets to find Pip pressed against a wall, barely able to protest against his attackers. Two punks, who seemed to be about Pip's age, held him against the wall and sought out valuables. Finding nothing, they growled with anger and threw a sharp punch across the poor boy's face. Perhaps it was the way they hit him constantly, or the way Pip never made a sound, but something about it broke Damien's unbeating heart.

As if he could sense the deed about to be done, Lazarus yowled softly and stepped away from Damien. Remaining invisible, the anti-Christ seemed to fly towards them, knocking straight into Pip's offenders and causing them to tumble to the ground. Pip squeaked with fright and jumped, watching with wide, bewildered eyes as an invisible force savagely beat his offenders. They cried out with a mixture of pain and fright.

Pip whimpered, obviously more frightened by the scene before him than being mugged. What was going on? How was it that the two were being beaten up by literally no one?

Finally, at long last, the attacks stopped and the boys were left strewn on the ground, bleeding and savagely bruised. They took deep breaths, daring to get to their knees and eventually to a weary stand. They looked at each other in bewilderment and then at Pip. One wove a menacing finger at Pip. "I don't know what the fuck it was you just did, but don't think you're going to go unpunished." He flinched, instantly regretting his threat for the fear of being hit again. He relaxed after a brief second before receiving a sharp slap across the face. The boys yelped and wobbled off.

Pip simply watched them, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He slid down the wall, curling up into a meager fetal position. He found himself unable to stand when he heard the voice.

"Get up."

Pip squeaked, flinched and buried his face in his arms. The voice was demanding and stern, and even a bit edgy.

"I said get up," it repeated, a bit stronger.

"N-no," Pip stuttered, refusing to believe he was hearing voices.

"Dammit, Pip," the voice growled. Suddenly Pip felt himself grow cold, so cold that he surely would freeze. This was quickly followed by a slowly rising heat. A chill went up and down his spine, causing him to shiver. It was obvious that there was a presence, something there that wasn't supposed to be there.

He continued to grow warmer by the second, sweat pouring down his face. It seemed as though he were going to melt and stick to the warm pavement beneath him. A loud ringing filled his head, causing his head to ache and throb.

The last thing Pip heard was the spine-tingling yowl of a cat.

* * *

**Author's Note: **There ya go. Churrah for Tweek. Hope I didn't bore anyone. 


	3. Ch 2: Desirous

Bitter Compound 

Chapter 2: Desirous

Pip was unable to shut his head out to the nagging pain in his head. It seemed as though his head was simply going to split open, allowing it's contents to pour and gush out onto the pavement.

_I told you to get up_, came the voice again, but this time from inside Pip's head.

_B-but...why am I hearing voices? Who are you?_

The voice chuckled. _Oh, Pip_, it spat, _Don't you recognize your own best friend? I know we've had our share of troubles before but don't you see I mean you no harm?_

_I shall think you mean me harm! You're inside my head!_

_I hate to see you on the ground like that, Pip ol' chap_, the voice mocked in a perfect imitation of Pip's old Uncle, Uncle Joe. _Now we can do this two ways. One would be to simply do as I say and get off the fucking ground, or two, you could make things difficult and tiresome for both you and me and we can do things my way._

_I-I can't!_

_Like Hell you can't!_ The voice growled with intense annoyance._ Stop being such a god damn pussy and get on your fucking feet! That's all I fucking want you to do! Apparently you want more from me so I see I may have to be here a bit longer._

Suddenly Pip got to his feet, but not on his own will. He found he was unable to control his body movements (and he would later find that his speech wasn't to his willing either). Pip took a few steps and stopped.

_Who are you?_ his mind whimpered again.

_I don't remember you being so stupid, Phillip. Perhaps it's due to your fright, though. I can understand that being possessed might make someone a bit quiet for a while._

_Who are you? _Pip repeated.

_Your best friend, Damien._

"**_DAMIEN?_**" Pip screeched allowed, receiving frightened looks from some of the adults walking by.

_Keep it down, will you? _Damien snapped. _These people in your town are retarded. They're going to expect you're a troubled child if you randomly shout the name of the anti-Christ at random intervals._

_Why are you in my body?_

_I'm going to show you a good time, my friend._

_Where are we going?_

_I need to blow off some steam_, Damien responded, having Pip bend down and cradle Lazarus in his arms. _We're going to the movies_.

* * *

"Hurry it up, buttpipe! We're gonna be late!" 

"I'm coming, I'm coming! Don't kill me!"

Craig smirked and pulled his trademark blue and yellow cap over his dark hair. He'd kept the hat for as long as he possibly could and replaced it as soon as it started to wear out. Glancing over his shoulder at the shaking boy stumbling up the hill towards the school parking lot, his smirk was replaced with a slow roll of the eyes. "Damn, man, could you be anymore spaztic?"

Tweek made it to the top of the hill, pulling himself up quickly and glaring at Craig with a slight smirk. "C-considering my disposition and the f-fact that it's cold out h-here makes it hard for me to be c-coordinated." Tweek pulled his scarf around his neck and wrapped his arms around him in a weak attempt at warmth. "Besides, I-I'm here now and that's all that matters."

"Yeah yeah yeah," Craig responded, casually flipping him off. "I guess you're right. You _are_ here before everyone else," he added with a quick glance around them, finding none of the others. "They'd better hurry their asses up," he continued to complain, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Jack Frost is fondling my balls."

"What are you gonna do, Craig?" Came the unmistakable whiny voice of Clyde, appearing suddenly behind them. "Flip us off with _two _fingers?" Rolling his eyes as he was received with exactly what he requested from Craig, Clyde opened the passenger seat of Craig's car, much to Tweek's dismay. The blonde sighed through clenched teeth, kicking the snow. If Craig had noticed the acute change in his best friend's behavior, he didn't need to, because the seat that Clyde so rudely claimed for himself was without a doubt Tweek's personal VIP seat. Craig grunted and grabbed Clyde by the shoulders, yanking him just before he made himself cozy. He then grabbed Tweek and shoved him in the seat, the shakier boy yelping with harmless shock as he did so.

"Jesus Christ, Craig! You coulda bruised me!"

Putting a yellow-gloved hand on the top of the opened car door, Craig leaned in with a slight glare. "Dude, shut up. I got you that seat, didn't I? I'd think you would thank me."

Tweek sighed loudly, wrapping his arms around his head. He had disappointed Craig, the one thing he never wanted to do. "I'm sorry!" He whispered loudly in response. "T-thank you, Craig." Craig simply laughed and ruffled his friend's messy hair. Suddenly he spun around, dashing off in the opposite direction, shouting "You dickheads!" and "You're fucking late, stupid cuntwipes!" Apparently everyone else (minus Kevin, he decided he's rather go somewhere else instead. However, he was replaced by Butters' friend, Connor) had finally arrived, only to have Craig chase them down and tackle Token, the closest to his proximity.

Tweek sighed once more, feeling yet again like a burden to his friend. He knew he wasn't exactly the easiest person to be around, but he couldn't help it. There was just something about himself that he couldn't control, and he partly had to rely on the others and their forgiveness to get through the day. Once his mother took him to see a doctor, just to find out what exactly was wrong with Tweek. The doctor had referred them to a therapist, who in turn conferred that there was nothing _wrong_ with Tweek; he just wasn't completely right. He had said it was nothing that therapy could help with,and they were on their own.

Tweek was extremely grateful to have befriended Craig the way he did. The only real fall-out between them was in the third grade when the others simply set their fight up for them. They really had no problem with each other, but they weren't really friends. Afterall, Tweek had his coffee and his gnomes, and Craig had his guinea pig and _Red Racer. _With those valuables they were content,but after their fight they slowly grew closer and became better friends. There was that one small point in time, however, when Tweek was almost forced to hang out with Stan and his gang because of Kenny's death. He wasn't sure why he was around them as much as he was. He assumed it was because of Kenny's death; the boy always died but almost always came back, due to forces unknown to anyone else. There were people who seemed to miss Kenny; Cartman seemed a little less, well, loud. Stan sulked a lot, seeming to blame himself a lot for what happened, and Kyle seemed to be handling it rather well, having a tight grip with reality.

But it made Tweek question things. It made him question who loved him, who cared about him, who would really miss him. Despite his slowly growing friendship with Craig, no bonds felt strong enough for him. There seemed to be no one that would really mourn his death, and he wanted to change that. For too long he was hidden in the background, a mere prop to everyone else. He wanted to be known, to be accepted. He wanted to become close to others so they would miss him. He planned to do this by hanging out with those who seemed eager to spend their time with him, and that seemed to be Stan, Kyle, and Cartman. He would soon learn that they never had the intentions of befriending him, but trying to replace Kenny and fill the void the little hooded boy had left behind.

Craig was different. Craig took care of Tweek. He held a sort of pride in caring for the lesser-liked child. At times though, the blue-hatted boy had to admit, it was a bit of a hassle. There had been questions from others regarding the sexuality of Tweek and Craig, and they had a hell of a time trying to explain to everyone the relationship between them. How would they explain to others that they were more than friends, and loved each other, but would never be _in_ love with each other? They settled on telling everyone they were just best friends, and would flip them off, leaving the matter finished.

As Tweek sat there, watching Craig wrestle the others to the ground in half-mock anger, he realized he would never be the macho friend that Craig wanted, but perhaps he could be the voice inside his head. His own Jiminy Cricket.

"Damn bitch," Token mumbled at Craig's greeting, his face shoved into the snow. He shoved Craig off and picked himself up, wiping the snow off of him. "If you don't stop horsing around we'll be even later, and trust me, we don't wanna see you piss yourself."

"Yeah!" Butters chimed in defiantly, "You might get your pants wet!"

Craig responded by climbing into the driver's seat and starting the engine as a warning that if they didn't all cram into the backseat it would be just Tweek and him in the movie. They all scrambled in the back of the small car, pressed together tightly. "Why, we're in here tighter than a pack of sardines," Butters remarked. Connor giggled faithfully. Clyde sighed with slight disgust, but his look was quickly replaced with a grin and shriek of delight as Craig slammed his foot on the pedal, zooming out of the parking lot with a devilish grin. Tweek yelled, clutching the dashboard in front of him and then slammed back into his seat, hiding his face behind his hands.

"Dammit Craig!" He shrieked, causing the others to laugh. "You're gonna wreck the car and we're gonna die! Or worse! You might get pulled over." Craig glanced at Tweek trough the corner's of his eye, his brows raised slightly. He switched gears with the stick-shift and increased the speed, a slow smirk growing on his face.

"JESUS CHRIST!" Tweek yelled with complete terror in his voice. "THE BUS!"

"What?" Craig asked, glancing at Tweek with confusion.

"THE BUS!"

Craig's gaze followed the direction where Tweek's finger was pointing. His eyes widened as they quickly were catching up to the back of a bus at a stop light. He slammed on the brakes, screeching to a hault just mere inches from behind the bus.

They were all shaking, not nearly as much as Tweek, of course, but that was to be expected, but Clyde and Token broke into fits of excited laughter. "Woo, yeah!" They cheered, giving each other high-fives. Craig slowly turned towards Tweek, his hands held firmly on the steering wheel. He grinned sheepishly. "Piece of cake," he insisted.

A low growl arose in the back of Tweek's throat, as he started pummeling Craig with his fists. "What . . . the hell. . . . is your. . . _problem_!"

Craig waited for the punching to stop before glancing out his window. There he saw Bebe and Wendy in the car beside his, glaring at him. Craig blew them a kiss, only for Wendy to flip him off. Craig scowled,mirroring her gesture.

The light turned to green and Craig drove at the speed limit, not a notch above. Tweek's heart was pounding in his chest, and he began taking deep, slow breaths to cool down.

"Come on, baby," Token complained from the backseat, "Why's the action stoppin' already?"

"Because we've had enough for one day," he responded, glancing in the rear-view mirror to find Butters nodding in agreement. "Butters," he said sternly, "If you tell any parents or anyone who might tell a parent, I will rip your balls off with a single finger. Ya clear?"

"Crystal!" He replied enthusiastically. "Why, that was lots of fun, I've never done anything like that before! B-but if my parents find out, they'll take my television away, and they won't let me get my liscense."

Clyde and Token groaned the rest of the ride to the cinema, complaining of being bored and cramped, and practically sitting on each other's laps. They bounded gratefully out of the car once they were parked, and ran up to the ticket-vendor, throwing their cash on the counter and waiting for their tickets.

They all bought popcorn, drinks, and candy, except for Tweek, who had a slight fear of getting cavaties or losing teeth at an early age. Craig tried to persuade him to buy something, or at least eat a little bit of Craig's food, but the Tweak boy refused. Craig finally gave up and headed towards the theater. A familiar british accent caught his attention however, and he spun around to find Pip yelling at the ticket-vendor.

"I want to bring my cat in!"

"Son, have you lost your mind? What makes you think an animal would be allowed in here?"

"Dammit," Pip grumbled, tossing the cat out onto the sidewalk. The cat yowled and trotted around the corner and disappeared behind the building.

The six boys swarmed around Pip, confused expressions clouding their faces. "What the Hell was that about, frenchie?" Craig asked rudely, giving him a small shove. Much to his surprise, Pip shoved him back. "Damn dude, what's your problem tonight?"

Pip blinked. "What do you mean?"

"You're acting fucking crazy," Craig spat, raising a brow.

"Oh, uh, I'm just in a bad mood," Pip grumbled, pushing through the guys and heading into the Emily Rose theater.

"Oh great," Clyde mumbled. "He's seeing the same movie."

Sighing, Craig led them towards the theater. "Well that was weird."

* * *

The movie had finished (and Tweek found he wasn't too afraid during the movie, but it being close to Halloween weekend and dark outside, the corners seemed sharper and the shadows darker), and the boys were all piled into Craig's car again. Butters was confiding in Connor how scared he was during the movie, and Connor was listening with sincere interest. Clyde and Token were making fun of it, obviously not impressed with the movie. Craig drove solemnly and quietly, and Tweek was glaring reluctantly out the window. 

During the movie Pip had been making odd noises. He'd either growl with disgust or snort. Craig had to admit, the movie wasn't the best and a big dissapointment, but he didn't think it was _that_ bad. While the gang was piling into the car, Craig and Tweek had noticed him sulking suspiciously behind the movie theater and searching for the damn cat. The cat _seemed _to appear out of nowhere, but they assumed it was their imaginations working in overdrive due to the movie.

Craig drove the boys home, and Tweek was sleeping over at Craig's. They planned on playing cards with Craig's family if they were home, and then watching movies. It certainly was different than the usual 'sleepover' Craig had with his other friends. These sleepovers involved sneaking out late at night, looking for beer, or trying to peek into the bedrooms of girls like Wendy, Bebe, and Heidi. Tweek had never actually _slept _over; they would plan on it, and Tweek would suddenly grow frightened about nothing and beg to go home. He didn't know why he tried anymore; he just assumed that they would make attempts and get better at it. It was like having sex, or smoking crack the right way. It sometimes took several tries to get it right.

They stopped by Tweek's house to pick up his stuff, and stopped by the video store for a few movies. Craig picked out _The Shining, Saw_, and _Rocky Horror Picture Show._ He was rather excited to watch the latter, but knew Tweek would be a little uncomfortable with it at first. But he would help Tweek learn to loosen up with movie choices, and hell, maybe he'd even dance along with the transvestite. Craig snorted with a brow raised at Tweek's choices; _Son in Law_ and _BioDome_. Tweek held them up with a hopeful grin, his eye twitching. Craig sighed annoyedly. "Tweek, you know Pauly Shore isn't funny."

Tweek's disposition seemed to drop a few notches as he drooped a bit. "He's not?"

"Fuck no."

Tweek nodded eagerly and put the movies back. "Alright, t-then we can just watch what you got!"

They rented the movies and were back at Craig's house in ten minutes. Craig helped Tweek carry his things, with a sleeping bag under one arm and his keys in the other hand. Tweek got out of the car and reached back in with a shaky hand to grab his bag, but jumped, banging his head on the ceiling of the car when Craig slammed the trunk shut. Tweek yowled with pain and then rubbed the top of his head with a grumpy expression. Craig chuckled and pushed past Tweek to the front door, unlocking it and leaving it open for Tweek. Craig dropped Tweek's bag to the floor and stood at the edge of the stairs leading up to the second floor. "Izzy?" He called, waiting a second before calling again. "Izzy, you home?"

"Yeah, I am," came the reply. A girl of about thirteen or fourteen appeared at the top of the stairs, her light red hair pulled back in a ponytail. Small freckles were scattered just on her nose, but were hardly visible underneath a light coat of makeup. Izzy started down the steps before spotting Tweek, who had appeared behind Craig. She stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide at the sight of him. Tweek gasped, letting out a small 'gah!' before rushing off into Craig's kitchen.

Craig groaned. "Now why'd you have to upset him like that? You know he's uncomfortable around you." Bending down to pick up the sleeping bag once more, he added, "I still don't understand why you have this little crush on him anyway."

Izzy's face turned a bright red, her brows crumpling together in a glare. "I do not!"

"Then why are you turning red?"

"I'm _not_!"

Craig stepped away from the steps. "I thought you were going to Flora's for the night?"

"I am," she replied, finally stepping off the steps. "At least I think so. I have to call her and then call mom and dad." Their parents were out of town for the weekend, visiting some relative of the family.

Craig nodded and followed Tweek into the kitchen. He set the sleeping bag on the counter and went to the fridge opening it. Tweek was sitting on a stool at the counter, playing with a wax apple. Craig retrieved two cans of root beer, so cold that the second they were set before Tweek, sweat dripped from the cans and left rings of water. Tweek grabbed a can delightedly, cracking it open and downing half of it in one gulp. He sighed with content and shakily wiped his lips with his sleeve. Craig flashed a lop-sided smile and leaned his elbows on the counter across from Tweek, careful not to slide on the tile floor with his socks while he stood. They stood and sat there for a few moments in silence, Tweek obviously struggling with saying something.

"I-I have to admit, Craig-"

"Hmm...?"

"The car ride was actually pretty fun." Tweek smiled sheepishly.

Craig's right brow shot up. "Yeah."

Tweek traced designs in the sweat on the can. "I-I know you probably think I won't make it here all night, a-and I know I'm not as fun as the other guys, b-but, I'm gonna try."

Craig continued to stare at him with a raised brow, making Tweek grow even more uncomfortable.

"Oh Jesus," Tweek whispered, staring at the counter and fidgeting nervously. "I didn't mean to offend you! I'm sorry I assumed."

"Shut up Tweek, stop apologizing so god damn much."

Tweek nodded. "Al-alright. Like I said, I'm going to try tonight, I'm going to try and stay the whole night. I'll admit that I'm afraid to stay the whole night-" He paused to search Craig's face for any signs of laughter, but finding none he assumed Craig was just great at masking it. "Oh God no," Tweek shrieked, "It's not like I'm afraid to be away from home, it's just I'm afraid of, well, can you do something for me?"

Craig nodded.

"If, if I start. . .moving. . .in my sleep, don't wake me up."

* * *

Craig and Tweek were sprawled out on the floor in Craig's living room. There were no signs of Izzy being at home so it was safe to assume she ended up going to Flora's house afterall. They had finished _The Shining_, and Tweek insisted they turned off _Saw_. It wasn't scary to him, but it messed with his mind a little too much for comfort. Just as Craig assumed, Tweek was a litle uncomfortable when _the Rocky Horror Picture Show_ started, but he was true to his word and tried to loosen up. 

Tweek was mildly entertained by Craig's excitement and love for the movie. He knew every lyric, and didn't sit down once or take a break from dancing. Tweek had to admit he was starting to like the movie, because Craig made it so enjoyable for him.

On the screen a man with a hump, known as Riff Raff, was hanging around a clock designed like a coffin. Craig yelled and wooped, jumping on the couch and started singing and mimicking Riff Raff's movements perfectly. Tweek eyed him wearily, thrown a little off-kilter. Craig jumped off the couch, and in front of Tweek, his face inches away from his, waving a finger in Tweek's face. "_But listen closely, not for very much longer. I've got to keep control_." Craig jumped away from him, screaming the lyrics, "_I remember doing the time warp, drinking those moments when the blackness would hitme, and the void would be calling, let's do the time warp again!_"

Craig pulled Tweek to his feet, positioning him beside him. "_It's just a jump to the left_," he instructed, and Tweek did so. "_And then a step to the right_." They stepped with their right foot three times, waving limp hands along with it. "_With your hands on your hips, you bring your knees in tight._" Craig and Tweek did so, and through fits of laughter, Craig sang, "_But it's the pelvic thrust that really drives you insaaaane_!" The boys laughed and did several over-enthusiastic pelvic thrusts that would have put the characters in the movie to shame.

"Let's do the Time Warp again!" Tweek cried. Craig clapped, and shouted, "Take it away, Magenta," pointing to Tweek as Magenta sang her part of the song on the television. Tweek, eager to please Craig and 'break loose' decided to humor the both of them and do his own twitchy jig.

Suddenly there was a squeal similar to that of Columbia's from the entryway to the living room and they both looked up to find Izzy there, excited to see the family's favorite movie on the screen. Tweek fell over with initial shock and embarrassment, but was soon on his feet again. She dashed in, dancing along with Columbia, as well as Craig. Tweek eventually joined in once more, allowing the music and their laughter to possess him once more.

With the last note, they all fell to the floor in a laughing heap.

The three of them sat up and continued to enjoy the movie, although Tweek was disturbed by Dr. Frank -N- Furter. After performing his own rendition of 'Sweet Transvestite,' Craig questioned the lack of Izzy's absence. Apparently Flora was grounded for trying to sneak out and visit Ike late at night. The boys decided to allow Izzy to stay and finish the movie. They all laughed together, but there were times when the movie was so bizarre that Tweek yelped and hid his face. 'So much sex!' he cried every so often, only making the siblings laugh.

It was one of the best nights ofTweek's life, and he had Craig to thank for it. Too bad it would be the last night of it's type.


End file.
